Time to Fly Away

by Rob Wahrhaftig

My eight-year-old nephew
Steve often asks me, “Did
you get out of cancer yet?”
I tell him that you don't exactly “get
out” of cancer, that it's not like being
in a jail. A jail is where you are put
when you have done something wrong,
and people with cancer have not done
anything wrong. No, having cancer
is more like being stuck in a barrel.

In 1989, I was living on a kibbutz
(agricultural settlement) in Northern
Israel. One of the enterprises on the
kibbutz was an olive and onion processing
plant. Outside of the factory,
there were hundreds of 55-gallon
plastic barrels, some sealed with
olives curing in saltwater, and some
recently emptied. One day while
walking by, I heard a loud, thrashing
sound and noticed that one of the
barrels, standing upright, was shaking
back and forth, wobbling furiously.

I approached it, apprehensively,
and peeked inside to find a large,
white pelican flailing about, trying
to spread its wings to take flight. It
looked up at me, its mouth opening
and closing but not making a sound.
A large variety of birds migrate
through the Galilee in the fall, many
making nearby Mt. Gilboa their temporary
home.

One day while walking by, I heard a loud, thrashing
sound and noticed that one of the barrels, standing
upright, was shaking back and forth, wobbling furiously.

These birds would fly over to the
kibbutz to snack on the loose olives
and onions that were scattered on the
ground or remaining in the barrels.
This hungry pelican had gotten in a
little over his head, literally, in that he
apparently dipped into the barrel for
a bite, fell in, and then couldn't get
out. He was frantically flapping his
wings instinctively, but his wingspan
was too large for him to extend fully,
and the sides of the barrel were too
oily to enable him to use his feet to
push off the sides and spring out. He
was boxed in, out of options, and despite
his best efforts, his prospects
appeared dim. He needed help.

I gently tipped the barrel over
and lowered it to the ground, and the
pelican slid out. It would be a great
ending to the story if I could tell you
that the pelican turned to me and
imparted some mythical words of
wisdom. He did not. Instead, after
sliding out of the barrel, he simply
shook himself off, spread his wings,
and flew away. Never looked back.
Never revealed the secrets of life.
Never commanded me to build an ark.

So Steve, cancer is more like being
stuck in a barrel than locked in a jail.
When you find yourself in a position
like this, you need a little luck, a little
compassion, your instinct to survive,
and faith that someone or something
will tip the barrel over and that you
will shake yourself off, fly away, and
not look back.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Rob Wahrhaftig is a mantle
cell lymphoma survivor who has recently
finished chemotherapy.

This article was originally published in Coping® with Cancer magazine,
July/August
2008.